In the Gardens of Hell
by wildandcrazy91
Summary: AU./ After the second rebellion was ultimately defeated by the mighty Capitol, Annie Cresta finds herself living in a world without her friends, companions, and Finnick Odair. In a world that is filled with growing darkness and chaos by the second, she wills herself to keep living, for the hope that the things she loved the most will return to her.


**(Hello to all! My name's Amiee and this is my first Hunger Games story. I have been writing/reading on FanFiction for many years. Mostly I've written HP stories that have long since been dead and gone. While I will always love Harry Potter, I also love Hunger Games, A LOT. That being said, there is no doubt in my mind that my favorite THG couple is Finnick/Annie. I love them together so much and have a passion for giving them a voice in their own love story. This story is AU, meaning alternate universe, so the story is based around IF the events of Mockingjay ended differently. Also, fair warning, this story is not for the faint-hearted, but I promise you, you will (or at least, I hope) grow to love this story as much as I do. Thanks for reading and if you have any questions or feedback, feel free to leave them in the comments/reviews. Also, I apologize for the first chapter being so long, but I wanted there to be a bit of a backstory. The first few segments of this chapter are Annie's memories. Hope you enjoy!)**

My eyes are fixated...no, _glued_ to the long, cold glass tube that will hoist me up to my own doom.

"I...can't do this," I say in broken, ragged pieces. My breathing becomes uneven as I try to take my gaze off the column and to the floor, but it's useless.

"Annie..."

A voice in the distance calls my name. For a few short moments, I ignore it, thinking of nothing except my impending death. There's no way I could possibly have a chance of making it out of the arena alive. So, how will it be, then? Stabbing? Strangling? A stone bashing my brains out or a spear to the chest? There's so many possibilities, and they all terrify me so greatly that my feet become like cinder blocks instantly and cement themselves directly into the floor. My body starts convulsing with pure, utter, genuine fear. The tremors start down my spine; soft and weak as they always do, then reverberate to my whole body, making the motions of my arms and legs jerky and wild. The horrified tears follow soon after, and soon, endless amounts of them spill over my eyes and down my cheeks.

"I can't do this! I can't!" I scream, my eyes finally pulling themselves from that tube. "Please, don't make me do this! I _**don't want **_to do this! I'm going to _**die!**_"

As hands attempt to restrain me by grabbing at my arms, I jerk away rashly, taking a few steps backwards until I find myself against the wall of the room I'm in. My arms fold over each other, attempting to shield me from the the other person in the room, who if I remember correctly, is my stylist, Reed. He is a nice enough man, what with his teal-colored shoulder length hair and white eyes. Although I'm not in the right mindset to acknowledge it completely, I know that he has helped me throughout my stay in the Capitol. He _does _want me to succeed, and I do know that, but at the same time, it just isn't enough to make me stop crying uncontrollably.

A few minutes pass, and although I can still feel warm tears slide down my face, I quiet a bit, and build up enough mental strength to glance up at Reed, who has his back turned to me. He is on the other side of the small room, and it looks like he's leaning into something. A phone...maybe?

"No..._no. _That won't be necessary. All that I'm asking is for allowance to have him come down here to help her contain herself. I cannot do it by myself. She will not listen to me."

A few seconds of silence...and then-

"Yes, just a minute or two. That's all she needs I believe. Don't worry sir, she'll be up on the arena in a matter of minutes."

There's another moment of silence before Reed thanks whoever it was on the phone, then hangs it back up on the jack before turning around to face me; a careful smile pulling at the very edges of his lips.

"Hey, sweet thing," He says to me, taking a step closer towards where I'm standing, "You're alright, okay? Nothing's happening. You're still underground...here, with me."

I know my stylist's intentions are genuine, but still feeling uneasiness settle in my belly, all I do is slide against the wall into a sitting position, swallow heavily, then sniffle a bit while staying silent. He takes this as discouragement and sighs, looking down at the white tile in between us.

"Alright then, I understand," Reed clears his throat. "I know this is your worst nightmare. I wish there was so much more I could do for you," He stresses the last sentence before walking towards the glass tube, then turns, inspecting a small rack of what looks to be items of clothing.

Silence fills the dank enclosure and I am once again left with the despair of my thoughts. Why me? _Why, why, __**why**_?

I don't know how much time has passed before the door to the room opens. I don't bother moving my gaze from the floor until I realize that there is a person squatting in front of me.

"Annie...hey, Annie."

That voice. I know that voice...I'd know it anywhere. I know his face too, even before I decide to look up.

Finnick is staring at me with an expression I can't seem to read...but I know that it causes the anxiety in my belly to rise with each passing second. He forces a comforting smile before bringing up a single hand to frame the left side of my face.

The words tumble out of my mouth before I even get the slightest chance to stop them.

"Save me, Finnick. Please. Take me out of here. I hate all of this...I don't want to be a part of this. Please," the tone in my voice turns to pleading, "Make them stop this...the Games."

He doesn't say anything for a few moments. Instead, he simply stares right at me; in my eyes...as if he's trying and straining to try and speak to the deepest parts of me.

After a minute, I blink, and so does he, breaking our gazes and peers away in another direction. This causes me to frown...I'm not sure what to feel, but if he doesn't know what to say or do, then I know my hope of leaving...of getting out of competing in the Games, is hopeless.

"Annie," he finally says my name, "There's...nothing I can do to stop this from happening. Trust me, if there was, I would have found a way. I tried my damn hardest to do anything I possibly could to keep you out of harm's way. You know I did. But they-" He pauses, his breathing becoming slow and steady as he attempts to control his emotions, "They won't listen to me. I'm to be punished for what I did to them...to Snow. Having _you _here...in the arena, that's my punishment. I'm so sorry. This is...this is all my fault."

I know he didn't mean to, but his response hits me like a blow to the side, and my heart drops into my stomach. I try to lower my head, concealing back into myself, but he takes his hand that was on my cheek and moves it to my chin, lifting my gaze back up to meet his eyes.

"But I _promise _you...that I will do _everything _in my power to keep you safe. No matter what it takes...you're _going _to come back to me. Okay?"

I hesitate for a moment while processing what he has told me. The confidence...the _assurance _in his voice is something I trust completely and fully. This isn't just another mentor who wants me to win so that it brings them glory...no, this is Finnick. _My _Finnick, and for that reason alone, I manage to smile somewhat, which in turn makes him smile softly.

"Alright," I tell him quietly, nodding my head against his hand. "Alright. I trust you. I really do."

We then share a few wordless moments, and in those moments, there's nothing more that I want to do than to lean in and kiss him. Believing the he will in fact, save me, even though it's not in the way I want, is still somewhat comforting. Any sliver of comfort, or warmth, or..._anything _is better than the feelings I had been feeling before he arrived. Believing in him is my confidence. He's my everything, really. The thought of not seeing him in the arena crushes me, but I have to remember what he has told me...to be as strong as possible. To be agile, and smart...and cunning, all of these things which I am naturally not, I must convert into all of these things.

As my mind reels, he leans in, quickly planting the shortest kiss imaginable on my lips, then pulls away, bringing his own lips up to my forehead, letting his mouth linger over my skin for a moment.

"I love you, Annie," He tells me quietly. "You know that."

Before I can even so much as respond, he stands back upright, then grabs at my arms, pulling me up gently to my feet. Right then, an automatic, robotic-like voice fills the room, announcing the 30 second warning. Finnick wraps an arm around my backside, guiding me towards the menacing tube. Normally, I wouldn't dare let anyone bring me to stand in front of it, but with him there, I feel myself more complete, focused, and put together.

Out of the corner of my eye, Reed moves behind us and places a simple, yet snug fitting and warm jacket around me. As soon as he helps guide my arms through the arm holes, he squeezes my shoulders gently, then stands back, allowing for me to say my last goodbye.

As if on cue, the tube slides open, granting complete access to me, one of two District 4 tributes.

The anxiety builds through me again, and I'm shaking just like I was before Finnick arrived. Fortunately, he notices immediately and pulls me into him, wrapping both arms around me, then buries his head in the crook of my neck. I rest my head on his shoulder, knowing that if I show him the same affection, I'd never be able to let go of him.

"You're stronger than you think, you know."

His comment makes me frown with confusion, but I'm able to erase it from my expression as we pull away.

"I'm with you every step of the way. Remember that. Just because I won't be there physically, doesn't mean I won't be working behind the scenes."

The way he phrases it makes me want to smile, but before I get the chance to, he nudges me gently onto the first step toward the tube, then the second...and the third and then, I'm in completely. Without any hesitation, the tube seals shut, and I can't hear anything; not even the humming from the large vents in the room. Panic slowly creeps into my veins as I press a hand against the glass, yearning for Finnick to do the same, but it's too late. Peacemakers have already barged into the room where the three of us were and they escort both Finnick and Reed out. The last thing I see as the tube gradually moves upward, is the barrel of a Peacemaker's gun as they seal the room off.

…...

I don't even know where the hell I am, and it certainly doesn't help that I'm too afraid to open my eyes and see for myself. What I _do _know, though, is that I am laying on something incredibly soft. Out of curiosity, I push myself back into it slightly-only finding that the material molds to my body shape; and that's when it hits me...memory foam.

Surely there isn't anything containing memory foam in the arena, is there? At first, I think not, but then I mentally backtrack. The Capitol, as relentless as they are, are also extremely smart and creative...so the possibility of artificial grass made from memory foam isn't entirely absurd. I waver only for a moment before deciding to be brave for once in my life, and open my eyes to see my surroundings.

I do a second later, and right then, I find myself actually pleasantly surprised. I am staring at a intricately-carved wooden canopy of what I assume is a bed. I study the carvings of trees, flowers, and brush above me before shifting my eyes to my left, noticing that while it is indeed a bed, it is easily the most elaborate and breathtaking piece of furniture I have ever seen in my life. Not only is it exquisitely large, almost dramatically so, (I could easily roll around on this thing three or four times and not fall off and hit the ground), but it is decorated to the satisfy the liking of royalty. Aquamarine silk draping lined with lace fall down over the sides of the canopy, while I notice the headboard of the bed is also carved beautifully, just like the canopy is. The dressings of the bed itself are marvelous; the softest of cream colored linens cover the rather bouncy mattress, and the tens of pillows that rest behind my head match perfectly. As I'm still taking it all in, I get to thinking...

Did I..._win _the Games? Clearly, I did, right? Otherwise, I wouldn't be laying here...in this bed. No, if I _didn't _win...I'd be dead. Cold and dead...and probably buried in one of those awful, hard-looking wooden caskets that I have seen children go home in a million times on television over the past years.

_**Stop thinking it through so much. It's not that hard. You did win.**_

I finally accept it. I won. I.._**won **_the 70th Hunger Games. I don't remember how I did it, but here I am! Alive and breathing...and in that moment, I realize that I am indeed smiling, and not just a weak, measly smile, but a smile where I can feel my teeth popping through my lips.

Rocking myself into sitting position, I take in the room itself, which of course, it not a let down whatsoever. The walls are painted a light sea foam green and adorned with all kinds of priceless paintings and artwork-all of which commemorate the Capitol in some way. To the left of me is a large, French-styled window, and I crane my neck slightly to peer outside, the skyline of the mighty city easily visible from where I sit. As I continue to explore the room with my eyes, I notice the large stone crested fireplace, which is already ignited with a nice, warm fire that crackles and pops every once in a while. In front of the fireplace, there is an armchair, a sofa, and a recliner, all decorated to match the bedding. I absorb all of it like a sponge for a minute or two before turning to the nightstand, noticing a small note left and signed by a name I do not recognize.

_Miss Cresta,_

_ I speak for everyone when I say congratulations on winning the 70__th__ Hunger Games! We all enjoyed your journey from day one until the very end. Do you like your compliments? This is the guest room the Victor stays overnight in the day before the crowning ceremony, conducted of course by our great President! Please, make yourself feel at home for the time being. Breakfast is waiting for you by the fireplace and your ceremony attire is already picked and laid out for you on the wardrobe by the east wall. It would be best to have yourself completely presentable by one in the afternoon, as your escorts will arrive to meet you soon after. If you need anything, anything at all, Pania is right outside your door. She will assist you with whatever you need. Enjoy some rare time to yourself...that will soon change in a matter of hours! _

_ Best regards in every way,_

_ Tytos Cleek, director of Victor Affairs and Activities_

_P.S.-Can I just say I was thoroughly impressed with how you managed around the flooding arena after the dam broke?! Incredible! No one stood a chance against you-not with your impeccable swimming skills!_

The note falls through my fingers and flutters down to the floor as a revelation hits me. I remember. Maybe not everything...but I do remember when the arena started to flood. I had been climbing up one of the many hills when I heard it crack-the damn. It was so loud, I wasn't sure what it was at first. It wasn't until I heard powerful waves crash against one another and screams of help did I realize what was happening. I tried to climb the nearest tree with no success, and with each passing second, I knew the escaped water from behind the dam was coming...so I did what I had been taught to do. Swim.

Once the first wave caught up with me, I went under...and stayed under for what felt like hours. After I gained control and momentum of my body though, I kicked to the surface and stayed afloat...no matter how hard I had to fight to do so. I remember body surfing a couple of passing waves, then once I didn't have the strength to do that anymore, I swam to the nearest body of a floating tribute, clutching onto his life vest as I forced myself to look anywhere but the dead boy facing face-down in the murky, freezing water.

As the waves slowly died down into nothing, I remember leaving that boy tribute, and swimming with all my might towards the only thing I saw above water-the Cornucopia. It felt like ages before I reached the edge of the beacon, but once I was there, I used whatever stamina I had left in my body to pull myself up onto the contraption, then collapsed; body ringing from pain and heart cold and numb from everything around me.

I shift and stand to stand up, my exhausted legs flimsy at first, but after a minute or two, I'm able to walk slowly towards the fireplace, where I plop down into the armchair and reach for a large danish pastry off a gold-tinted platter. As I begin relishing in my experience, there is a soft knock at the door, and I turn, meeting the gaze of Pania, whose scarlet red robes affirm to me that she is, in fact, an Avox. I quickly swallow the piece of danish that was in my mouth and stand once more, watching Pania motion behind her. I follow the sway of her head, and notice Finnick standing behind her, a blank expression pasted onto his face. As I quickly smooth out my tight, form-fitting robe, I nod to Pania, expressing my understanding and permission.

"It's alright, you can let him in. I'm not doing anything," I tell her, shyness evident in my tone.

Pania nods ever so slightly, then moves to the side, extending her arm out as Finnick shuffles around her and walks into the room. The Avox girl leaves as soon as she's able to, the heavy oak door closing behind her.

I study that door for a few moments, before building up enough courage to shift my gaze and look Finnick in the eye. It has been weeks since I last saw him, and those weeks alone were easily the most detrimental, traumatic time in my whole life. I know he understands that, which is probably why he is approaching me cautiously; his steps small and tentative.

I am so lost in my own thoughts that I barely realize what he is wearing-his attire for the crowning ceremony, which, according to the letter, is set to start this afternoon. The suit he is wearing is tailored to compliment the frame of his body completely, and the color, which happens to be pure white while the hem is teal, somehow accentuates his features enough to make him look even more handsome and desirable than he already is.

I bite my lip in anticipation as he takes another step closer to me, a part of me feeling a gnawing hunger grow in my gut-and surprisingly, it isn't for the food. Whatever expression that is on my face must match my current feelings, because Finnick's expression changes too, just in a matter of seconds. Instead of being hesitant and cautious, he now looks at me like he has time and time before. I know the look too; it is one that I know he's given plenty of his well-paying clients. It's one of raw, uncontrollable lust, that many women would go weak at the knees in response to such an erotic execution...and normally, I would bend, too. But as that looks smolders into a confident smile, I step back, feeling overwhelmingly guilty for ever wanting to be so intimate with Finnick while the other tributes of my Games are already lifeless and non-existent. The thought of their pain-stricken families weeping over their children's bodies while I indulge in my own weaknesses disgusts me. How could I ever do such a thing? How could Finnick?

I take another step back, folding my arms behind my back.

"Congratulations on your victory," I tell him, bitterness flowing through my voice.

He stops in his tracks, the previous expression gone from his face, and instead, he frowns in confusion.

"What do you mean? You're the one who won this. Not me."

I nod, noting that he is indeed right. That doesn't stop me from shooting back another comment of my own.

"And you do realize what I had to do in order _to _win, right?" I ask, watching Finnick's frown turn into a scowl.

"Of course I know what had to happen in order for you to win, and what you probably had to do..." He shakes his head slightly and rolls his shoulders before adding on a bit more. "I did it too, you know. It was only five years ago, Annie."

Again, I bob my head in response, but don't say anything else for a bit. Instead, I creep slowly over to the sofa this time and sit down, spreading myself out so that I can lay my head on the arm. Finnick's face appears above me only seconds later, his arms on either side of my head, and I sigh, closing my eyes.

"Why did you come here, Finnick?" I ask him bluntly.

Nothing but silence fills my ears, and I can suddenly feel a tension building between us that becomes so thick, I could probably grab a nearby knife off the coffee table and cut the air with it.

When he speaks, his voice breaks, which catches my attention, so I look up to meet his eyes.

"Don't you fucking do that."

My eyebrows furrow together as I stare at him, unable to read his expression. That has been happening more often lately.

"Do what? What am I doing?" I ask him, genuinely wanting to know what he means.

"You're trying to shut me out," Finnick tells me flatly, his eyes blank. "I know that's what you're trying to do, and I'm _not _going to let that happen. Not with you."

His response is so absurd and upsetting to me, that all I can do is let out a series of little laughs.

"I just went through the worst experience that I will probably ever face in my life. How am I supposed to feel or react to anything, Finnick?" I ask him, raising a brow.

"You're supposed to let it all out," He says calmly, his eyes no longer looking at me, but the arm of the sofa. "That's why I decided to come see you...no, it's _why _I _wanted _to come see you. You need someone to look after you, and I want to be that person. I'm also one of the only people they'll let in here...considering I'm, y'know, your mentor and all that..."

Finnick murmurs something incoherent, and I swallow a gulp of air as silence fills in between us once more.

"I can't do this," I say flatly, the emotion gone from my voice. "I can't do this stupid Victory Tour. How am I supposed to get up on a stage, say some speech, and then look each family in the eye, telling them how grateful I am for their child's sacrifice? It's not like that's going to bring them any peace or anything...so what's the point? What's the point in any of this?!" I fling my arms up into the air as my voice begins to rise. I can feel anger and grief swell inside of me, and both are too much for me to bear. How can anyone _live _with this pain?

Finnick cups a hand over my mouth, and I shoot him an angry look, to which eyes me intently.

"Annie," He says sternly, "Stop, alright? I'm going to tell you what we're going to do. You don't have to worry about that. I know what you're going through, I know you're scarred, I know all of that. I lived through it...hell, I still live through it. But we can get through it together, okay? I can help you."

I shake my head, sighing hopelessly as he finally takes his hand away from my mouth. I know Finnick means well...I know that, but what he's saying, does not seem possible to me. Sure, I can be smart-witted and feisty and clever right now, but what happens when the guilt and grief build in me over time? I'm so afraid that the way I feel right now is not even a glimpse of the dark place I'll be at in a month's time.

The door knocks briskly suddenly, and Finnick stumbles back, positioning himself to lean against the fireplace. We dare not share about our relationship with anyone-for fear of consequences. With Finnick's "playboy" status, he fears that, if we were found out, I'd complicate his services and concentration. Even though it hurts me to know what he does, I know that he does not want to do it, and feels very much a prisoner of it as well.

"Come in," Finnick says gruffly, sliding a hand through golden blond tufts of his hair.

My eyes study the opening door, both anxious and curious to see who exactly it is. My heart drops a little when Julius Jyder, Finnick's wacky looking stylist-turned agent, pokes his head through the door, his neon green hair sticking up in at least a two foot Mohawk.

"Oh, Finn, I'm glad I finally found you!" Julius sighed in what seemed to be relief, his powder white hands moving the door back a little bit more, his big, purple colored eyes peering from Finnick, to me, then back to Finnick.

A tense, awkward pause, and then...

"What do you need, Julius?" Finnick asks, irritated, his eyes positioned at the clown-like man. "Can't you see I'm literally in the middle of a very important discussion with my Victor?"

Julius' expression is now one of flatness and boredom, as if what Finnick has just told him hasn't changed his reasoning for coming to my room one bit.

"Well," Julius clears his throat, "I thought it would be smart to tell you that Emilia is ready for you to escort her down to today's festivities. She told me she does not like to be kept waiting, and," He raises a polished finger, "And I told her that I would gladly go and search for you, so here I am," he then pauses, straightening out his finely tailored pinstripe suit, "You better wrap whatever it is you're talking about up and go to the ground floor to meet her. Be smart, Finnick," He says, pointedly staring at him and only him.

The only thing I notice about his comments is the word Emilia. Her and her name stick out in my mind so immensely that any time I hear it, I immediately know that Finnick is about to leave me. Not that he wants to, but because he has to. Emilia Cox, one of the Capitol's most powerful socialites, was also one of Finnick's best paying sponsors during his Games. Once he was crowned, she became his most regular client, using him for her own pleasure and in any manner she could think of. This often means he visits her in the most unusual circumstances. Finnick has told me that lately, she has become so attached to him, that she has demanded he become her "male substitute for an escort. The idea...the image of her running her perfectly manicured hands and polished nails all over his body makes me nauseous, so all at once, I push her out of my mind.

"_Alright, _Julius..." Finnick responded, his obvious discontent growing by the mere seconds. "I get it, okay? I get it. Now, can you leave me?"

Julius gave him something of a warning stare, then glanced at me, to which I gave him a lackluster smile. He congratulates me on my victory before stepping back out of the room, the door once again sealed shut.

There is a period that follows where neither of us speak. I don't know about him, but I really have nothing more to say. My mind is too cluttered with the filth of my memories from the Games.

"I need to go," Finnick exhales loudly, but doesn't say anything else until he shifts from the fireplace and walks a few paces towards the door. He says my name once, and then twice before I acknowledge him, bringing my gaze towards where he stands.

"We'll talk later, alright?" He half says, half asks.

I stare at him, my eyes vacant and my brain somewhere else, but nod my head in understanding. His face molds into an expression of two emotions I don't have the energy to read, so instead, I sink into the sofa, bringing my head from the arm to the padding of the seat cushions.

"You know how I feel," Is what he says next, followed by the sound of the door creaking open. "I guess I'll see you soon."

With that, the sound of his footsteps lead into the hallway as the door clicks shut a few seconds later. Without even noticing, I feel a streak of warm water run down the side of my cheek before raising a lazy hand to wipe it away.

If I had enough energy, I would have had the nerve to tell Julius Jyder to leave us alone, that I am a Victor and I requested to speak to my mentor. If I had enough energy, I would have begged Finnick to stay with me longer than what he did, and, if I had enough energy, I know I'd be crying my eyes out at the thought of what Emilia Cox and her perversions are going to make him do to her.

But the simple truth of the matter is that I simply do not have any kind of energy what so ever. The initial joy of realizing that I had won the Games wore off quicker than anything, and now, all I feel is tired and heavy, like my veins are filled with solid lead instead of blood.

I know there isn't much time until I have to be ready for an afternoon of festivities, so I make the most of what I have available to me, and decide to sleep. To be quite honest, I wish I could sleep and never have to wake up again, but that is not possible. Now that I've won the Capitol's Games, I belong to them now. The revelation I've come to know is this: the nightmare never ends; no matter how good your life ever turns out to be...because in the end, the Capitol will always have a leash on you and will guide you in whatever direction they want you to go.

These thoughts stay planted in my mind as I settle in closer to the sofa and close my eyes, struggling to find enough peace to fall into even just something as little as a cat nap.

…...

As the sound of a thunderous, cheering applause filled my ears, I knew that the world had come to an end. While not literally, in every other aspect, the world that we knew...myself, my friends, my fellow Victors...the world that we had lived in for our entire lives, was now over.

We were currently being held in the underground platform of the amphitheater, where it was cold, dank, and dark. The only visible light was coming from one single ceiling light above us; it's glow somehow coming off to me is eerie and foreboding.

A deep, loud, tired sigh comes from my right, and I peer over towards Johanna Mason, who is standing beside me; her hands bound together, as are mine and everyone else's.

"Anyone know a way out?" She asks, the tiniest bits of hopefulness lingering in her question.

There's a beat of silence, and in that silence, I hastily shift my eyes to everyone in the room with us. Beetee, Plutarch, Cressida, Pollux, and Gale are all standing a few feet apart from each other in a line against one of the stone walls; then there is Haymitch Abernathy on my left side. He is the next one to speak up, saying something along the lines if there was somewhere to escape, one of us would have located it by now. Beetee adds that there's no possible way of retreating, mentioning the locked hatches and the armed Peacekeepers that await us even if we were to try such a thing.

"What the hell are they waiting on?" Gale exclaims from his spot in the line. "If they're going to kill us, why don't they just get it over with?"

_Kill...death...blackness...end._

His question rings through my ears and makes me visibly shudder. I am not ready to die. I am not ready to become non-existent or have my ashes turned to dust. No, I'm not ready for any of that. I may not be the bravest, or smartest, but I like to think of myself as warrior for the cause of the rebellion, and I have been told that warriors stand firm and strong until the very bitter end.

Despite wanting so incredibly badly to be brave...my mind, and my heart, float to Finnick. I cannot think about him without feeling the familiar panic I am burdened with set into my veins. Gale was the last one to see him just a few hours ago. He told us that he and Finnick were literally yards away from President Snow's mansion when they were both ambushed and taken to separate parts of an unknown and unmarked facility. He said that was the last time he saw Finnick, and in one of the rare occasions where I was able to speak up and be heard, Gale had told me that the last moments of seeing him, that Finnick still had enough energy to fight and struggle against the guards restraining him. Which, certainly met that as of a couple hours ago, Finnick was still okay.

No matter what I try to tell myself with that information, it still does not bring me the comfort I so desperately need. With a broken sigh, I try to move my hands around in against the bindings. I'm trying so hard, that for a second, I'm able to twist my left hand a nudge and glimpse at the sparkling jewel of a diamond on my ring finger.

This causes tears to automatically pool in my eyes as I force myself to pull my gaze from my hands and onto anything else.

Finnick is no longer just my my mentor or my best friend, but as of just weeks ago, he is my husband. He is my husband...my joy, my protector...my everything, and not knowing where he is or what is happening to him is literally about to give me a heart attack.

I bend down, aiming my face towards the ground as I rest my hands on the tops of my shoulders, attempting to do what Finnick has taught me time and time again...to keep control of my emotions and breathe steadily.

It's not working, though. Not at all. I can feel the hysteria rising up in my body. It becomes so powerful within a matter of seconds that I have to sit down to keep from falling over.

I can hear Gale again, and this time, he says my name. I'm not paying attention to what he is saying, but I hear Johanna speak over him in a alarming tone. Her hand finds my backside moments later as I notice her squatting down as well, trying to bring me some type of comfort and relief.

"Shut up!" Haymitch finally exclaims, catching every one of us off guard. I'm able to lift my head to look at him through blurry vision.

"Don't you all get it?" He asks, peering around at each of us, holding every single gaze for just a few seconds. "They're not going to kill us. If they were, it would have already happened."

"I believe this to be true," Beetee concurs as I notice him look up at the ceiling light through dirtied eyeglasses. "The President knows how to use time in the most efficient ways. If we were to be executed, he would have easily given the order to his guards upon our arrival to this location, or even before that. No," the District 3 Victor says quietly, shaking his head, "I'm under the greatest amounts of suspicion that they will use us, all of us, to benefit their needs."

"Benefit their needs?" Cressida speaks up, her voice questioning. "What does that even mean?"

We all go quiet for a few moments, and in those moments, I crane my neck forward, trying to glance at Plutarch, who stands near the end of the line. He is silent and still; his head drooped forward and his gaze to the ground. His demeanor genuinely worries me. If anyone knew what could possibly be going on outside of these walls, it would be him. He was the Gamemaker of the Quarter Quell, for God's sake, so in that time before that Games, he _had _to have some kind of intuition about what kind moves President Snow liked to make in order for him to get his way. As these reflections go through my head, opening my mouth to call out Plutarch's name, but I am interrupted by Haymitch once more.

"Beetee's right," The blonde-headed man tells all of us. "There's a reason why Katniss, Peeta, Effie, and Finnick aren't in here with us. The Capitol..." He pauses, sighing loudly; so much so that it reverberates off the opposite wall on the other side of the small room. "I don't know how to say this, but they know what they're doing, alright? They know _exactly _they're doing. Do not take them for fools. That being said, regardless of what happens then they take us out of here..." Another brief pause, "Be as strong as you can be. Don't let whatever crowd or audience they have out there intimidate you. You _are _all _soldiers_. You fought for the best cause...and that was freedom. Freedom is worth everything, and yeah, I do mean everything. Never forget what you stand for. They'll try to take that from you, and even though some of them will succeed, don't regret what you have done. Don't regret any of it. It _wasn't _worthless. We _sparked _a change. People _did _hear us when we said enough was enough. I don't want any of you to ever think that a difference wasn't made, because that's a lie."

As he stops speaking and looks down for a period of time, we all go mute, letting the effect of his words sink in for a minute or two before he clears his throat once more. This time, when he begins talking again, it is obvious he is holding back a melting pot of emotions as his voice cracks again and again.

"I want each and every one of you to know," Haymitch continues, turning, craning, and twisting his head to look at each of us for just a few seconds, "That I'm so damn proud of you. You are more powerful, more brave...more...fuck," He lets out a strange, tired laugh, "More badass than you'll probably ever know. I wouldn't take back a fraction of a second fighting with you guys. Good luck to all of you, no matter what happens. Hopefully, we can do this again in the future and come out with a hell of a better result."

There's no laughter or snickers after he finishes, but I know I can't be the only one who wants to smile. A ghost of a smirk tugs at the very corners of my lips as I take in Haymitch's exact words. In this moment, it is a good feeling to know that Katniss and Peeta's mentor was able to bring some sort of light in the impending darkness of our future. His lecture, or speech, or words of encouragment...or whatever that was supposed to be...that's what I want to hold onto, especially now.

We're able to stay together for another hour or so, and in that hour, we spend it mostly in silence. Some of the others are talking, or comforting each other, but for me, I'm simply sitting against the wall, playing with my wedding ring between my thumb and my forefinger. Johanna, who has been busy talking with Cressida, suddenly scoots closer to me and sighs.

"You know," She begins, flicking a finger over my ring, "I have a good feeling that Finnick's alright. I don't know where he is, or what's happening to him, but the Capitol..." The girl pauses to lick her lips, "They love him way too much to get rid of him without a second thought. Get what I'm saying?"

I crease my own lips in thought for a moment, then nod softly, turning my head to look at her. When we lock gazes, she offers a smile.

"Be strong...even if it's just for him. That's what he'd want you to do," She tells me, patting my knee before standing back up.

Her words instantly ring in my ears at the same time a large, metal doors open in front of us. A swarm of Peacemakers barge in and start grabbing the people on either sides of the line; Pollux, Beetee, and Plutarch are all taken first. As soon as they're clear and out of sight, the same doors close shut, and all we're left with is the sound of waves and waves of a mighty audience cheering, then jeering, then roaring with applause.

A few minutes later, a popping sound enters our ears, and I sit up as straight as I can, alarmed and confused as to what exactly is happening. I look to both sides of me...to Haymitch, and then to Johanna, Gale...Cressida, they all look as clueless as I'm sure I do.

It seems like ages when the doors open again, revealing another hoard of Peacekeepers. Two of them move to my left and haul Haymitch to his feet. He says nothing, but instead, shoots us a final signature smile before disappearing outside the doors. I wait for the barrier to close again as the seconds pass by, but it doesn't, and suddenly, and handful of frightening men dressed in pure white come right up to me and grab both of my arms roughly, lifting me to my feet. I can already feel the panic setting in as they lead me away from the platform. I try to twist my head around to look at my friends one last time, but it's useless, as one of the guards turns my head back around and lurches me forward a bit.

I am pulled out of darkness and into blinding white daylight. My eyes hurt so badly from squinting after just a few seconds of being outside, and the humidity that leaks in the air is so thick that it feels like I'm breathing in water.

I'm placed right at the edge of what feels like another sort of stage, or maybe a balcony, and then released.

There's a few seconds of murmurs and whispers before all of a sudden, an unexpected hush falls over the crowd in front of me. As my vision becomes clearer and I'm able to focus more, I realize that I am, in the amphitheater that had been used for the tribute parades in the past. It looks so much different...almost unrecognizable without the overall gleam and glitz the Games brought to such a place.

My eyes scan the crowd wildly, looking for anyone who could possibly look like Effie, or Katniss, or Peeta, or even Finnick. As my gaze shifts from person to person, the small fraction of hope that had been hidden within me slowly starts to die. If they're not out here, in the masses of Capitol citizens, then there really is no clue as to where exactly they could possibly be.

I'm so caught up in my current thoughts that I don't realize my name is being spoken until one of the Peacekeepers behind me nudges me a little. I shake my head, unaware of what exactly is going on.

"Surely we can find use for this Victor, can we not?" A man's voice booms in my ears. Looking to my right, I'm able to catch a glimpse of the man, who is tall and lanky with dramatically bright yellow hair and a suit to match. I don't recognize him at all, but I suspect he is not here to help me.

Whatever he is saying now sounds completely muffled in my ears, my anxiety fogging over any sort of judgment or surmise I might have. As the crowd's roar grows louder and louder by the second, I shift my eyes to the ground below, where instead of sitting civilly in their seats, they are standing...all of them, and seemingly screaming at the top of their lungs. Screaming for what reason, exactly? At disagreement of my fate? If I was able to laugh, I would have right then, because even a simple minded person, or a dull person knows that the citizens of the Capitol are blinded by everything the President tells them. They believe that Panem is better in the order and the structure that they have always grown up in. They do not agree with us; the rebels...the revolutionaries. They see us as a threat to their way of life. Why would they possibly be protesting my own fate? I am nothing more than a criminal to them, feeding into everything the city officials tell them...just like blind sheep, roaming around in the dark.

No, they will not save me from what is to come. To them, I deserve every bit of what lies in my future. The screams that I'm hearing sound more like cheers by the passing seconds.

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I close my eyes and immediately am taken back to the only place that could ever bring me the slightest bits of peace, and that is home. I'm sitting on beach, feeling the warm, golden sand tickle me against my skin and breathe in, smelling that all too familiar scent of glorious ocean water. This is where I am, and where my heart is. It's where I've always been, really. Who would ever want to leave such a quaint, perfect place? I had so many wonderful memories there, ranging from family outings to the sea market to walks on the pier in the evenings with Finnick. I remember the times when he would come visit from the Capitol, and even though I insisted he spend the time he had with his father and Mags, he would always refute me, saying that I was the number one reason he had always pleaded with the President to return home, even if it was just for one or two days. Nothing was better than those times. I would literally do anything I could to rewind time and relive it all again.

I only tear myself away from my own little paradise when I feel myself being pushed again, and I open my eyes only to the set of same pair of broad doors as they open once more. For some reason, my feet still against the flat of the edge of the balcony, and I stop for a split second. As I peer back inside to the platform that we were all standing on earlier, I realize that none of my friends are there anymore. Again, I feel my anxiety rise as I'm pulled back through the doors and ushered forcefully to the right. Where could they all have possibly gone? How long was I out on that balcony for? Surely it wasn't long enough for the rest of my companions to disappear, but, then again, I am in Capitol..people tend to disappear here on a regular basis. Still, I fear immensely for them and for their lives. In times of trial, it is brave and noble to not bend or break when faced with an inevitable evil, but the truth is that everyone is human, and being human, we all face human emotions that follow such great hurdles. My only hope for them is that whatever has happened to them or is going to happen to them, that they won't be suffering. It is a lot to wish, especially in our predicament, but hope is still hope and that is what I want to drive me. The _hope _that whatever is going to come my way won't last forever.

My thoughts carry me as the guards finally release their grip and step back, only to address the woman in front of me that I had not noticed until just now. I don't pay attention to a single thing she is saying; instead, my eyes widen at the realization of who she is. I _know _this woman. Finnick himself had mentioned her to me multiple times over the past year or so, though he refused to tell me how he knew her. She is taller than an average woman, with long, lavender, satin-like hair cascading down over her shoulders and her back. I then scan her face, noticing her perfectly structured assets and her over the top makeup. Her purple mascara is covered onto her lashes so thickly they looks like spider legs growing out from her eyes. As I move my gaze downwards, the dress she is wearing is a different is another shade of purple. The shimmery material of it comes up to a perfect point on her shoulders, making it look like the upper half of her arms are configured oddly. I don't have time to notice her shoes, as she is now attempting to address me. I hastily shift my eyes back to hers, a frown setting onto her lipstick-covered mouth seconds later.

"You aren't going to say anything, are you?" She asks, sighing impatiently.

She is right. All I do, in my own form of rebellion, is stare at her with a blank expression.

She stares at me as well, not saying anything, but I do notice that her gaze shifts from something of disinterest to icy. The guard behind me says something to her that I'm not able to make out, but the woman in front of me suddenly smirks, and then nods her head.

"I wouldn't worry about her anymore, gentleman. She will comply with my demands."

I give her a cold stare of my own after hearing such a statement, but she doesn't react to it, much to my disliking. Instead, she snaps her fingers sharply once and then twice before I notice another man in white reveal himself from behind the nearest door. He steps out, dressed head to toe in riot gear, and simply hands the woman a vial filled with a clear liquid. She leans in and murmurs something to him, and he nods before stepping back a bit.

"Who are you?" I ask, the words slipping out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.

She doesn't even acknowledge my question at all, and that bothers me.

"Alright Miss Cresta," She says, inspecting the vial for a second before taking a step toward me, "We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way." The woman pauses for a moment, holding out the vial to me, insinuating me to drink it. I do nothing except shake my head firmly.

My actions must either anger or annoy her...or maybe both, because her expression darkens, and she looks behind me. I feel the guards who had lead me here push me forward towards her as one of them holds me firm while the other lifts his hand to my jaw, then uses his fingers to squeeze either side of my mouth so painfully, that the only option I have is to part my lips and open it.

The contents of the vial is quickly poured into my mouth and I'm forced to swallow the metallic tasting liquid.

Once again, I'm released, only to feel the effects of whatever it was I drank flow into my system, my body feeling suddenly and alarmingly very fatigued and heavy. I have got to lay down.

The last thing I remember is the blinding sunlight before I was taken by unconsciousness.

…...

(Present day; The Capitol, Panem)

It is a bright, glorious, unnaturally warm December day in the Capitol, and I find myself enjoying it as much as I possibly can. I walk behind the woman who took me and her husband; all of our steps striding in unison as we make our way down one of the many sidewalks of the city. It has been a month since I last saw any of my friends, and in that time, I have learned many things. The woman who I know work for, or rather, serve for, is Darcy Flexling, one of the highest advisers to President Snow. What she advises him about, I'm not so sure...but if I had to guess, it would be about the status and numbers of livestock and agriculture being sent out of Districts 10 and 11. She seems very knowledgeable on those subjects, and I often find her talking about them with whoever she can. Although she has not told me directly, (she doesn't really take the time to tell me anything, really) I believe that she is from one of the two Districts, which explains why she is so passionate about the subject. She works ridiculous and long hours away from the luxurious penthouse apartment that she and her husband share, so I don't see her that much, and I'm secretly relieved about that. Darcy is a foul woman who takes pride in her status in the Capitol, and uses it to her advantage in every way she knows how to. This includes late night escapades with one of her interns, Clyde Hillaire. I have caught them engaging in sexual acts several times, but it really only happens late at night when I find myself unable to sleep (which happens a lot) and decide to wander about their home. If I had enough sympathy to feel for anyone else but myself and my well-being, I would feel genuinely sorry for Clyde. He is about my age, with spiked and styled light blue hair and eyes to match, and a smile that would win over anyone. I am not allowed to speak with him, but in the few instances that we have seen each other for brief moments at a time, he would smile at me softly. It is a shame that he is being used by such a manipulative woman as Darcy, but I guess he is willing to do whatever it takes to keep himself in good favor with her.

Her husband, Ulysses, is far more intimidating than she is, and it is him, his bushy orange hair, large build, and his cavalier personality that I am usually enclosed with in the apartment. He is just as respected and well-known as his wife is, especially because he has been promoted to Overseer of the Head Gamemaker. This is a new profession, and despite not being informed of what his exact duties are, I am perceptive enough to make a few guesses into what that job description entails. Because of the actions of the two previous Gamemakers, Seneca Crane and, of course, Plutarch Heavensbee, the President thought it wise to place someone who he is known to trust above the Head Gamemaker himself, in order to insure that they are doing their job completely and to the best of the ability. The idea of corruption inside the creators of the Games is something I can see Snow trying to avoid to the best of his ability. He has chosen well, too. Ulysses knows how to handle the power he has been given; I am a full witness to that, especially when it comes to his and Darcy's relationship. He is no fool and knows about her indiscretions, voicing his knowledge of it physically by striking her multiple times after she would back to their home in the early hours of the morning. That is the only time when I would see Darcy's vulnerable and sensitive side come out-when she was pleading and begging her husband to stop. Most of the time, Ulysses would, able to control his flaming anger...but sometimes, he wouldn't, and there would be times where I was not able to fall asleep because the sound of blows landing and moans of pain were just too much for me to bear.

Oh, Ulysses has power. His thirst for that power seems unquenchable until he is able to shower it onto others, and that is what makes him so frightening. He hasn't ever tried to do anything to me, but I'm afraid that some day, that might change.

As for myself, I have spent the last month mostly within the walls of their home, doing whatever it is they demand that I do. Most of the time, it is simple things like cleaning and preparing meals, but there have been times where I have been ordered to organize Darcy's ridiculous amounts of vibrant, painfully bright clothes and outfits in her wardrobe. I never knew a woman could own so many items of clothing at once, until I spend an entire afternoon folding and hanging everything in my reach. Despite all of this, I am somewhat grateful for my situation, as I know some of the others were not as fortunate as I am. About a week after my arrival to the Flexling home, it was revealed to me through a television in the kitchen that both Pollux and Plutarch had been murdered through a live, on-air special. When I heard this, my stomach churned with nausea. Neither one of them deserved such a fate, but it was expected, at least for Plutarch. He was a man who had been born in raised in the Capitol; the people had loved and adored him, and yet, once they found out about his betrayal, the only option for his punishment was death and to erase his name from every newspaper, book, and television prompt. It is now as if he never existed.

I do not know what has happened to the others-Haymitch, Beetee, Cressida, Gale, Katniss, Peeta, Finnick...none of them have even so much been mentioned through the radio or television, even though I spend nearly every waking moment surrounding myself with either of those two objects. I tend not to dwell on it, as I know it would not benefit me in any way, but would only cause my already constant anxiety to push me over the edge and have a complete meltdown. I cannot however, stop myself from thinking about Finnick and where he could possibly be. I see him in myself; in the strength I have developed, in my determination to not let my circumstances get the best of me, and of course, in my mind. He has become the epitome of my thoughts as well as my dreams. I don't know if either Darcy or Ulysses notice it during the day, but I simply do not have the energy to care about what they think of me or what I am. They have taken my freedom, but they will not take the person that I am.

I am jolted out of my thoughts by the sound of an impatient Ulysses, and I shake my head a bit, realizing that we have come to a complete stop in front of one of the entrances to the many high-scale buildings in the downtown district of the Capitol. He coughs a bit, then raises an expectant orange sculpted eyebrow at me, which I take as my cue to shuffle around both of them and haul the heavy door open. They walk through the threshhold without so much as a acknowledgment, and I follow, letting the door swing shut behind me. They're already at the bottom of the escalator when I make it into the lobby, so I find myself having to jog a bit to keep up with them. I have a few seconds of time to catch my breathe as I stand behind them on the raising contraption. I do not know the reason as to why we're here, but I suspect it has something to do with the upcoming Games that are scheduled for a month from now. Yes, the Games still very much exist, and I fear that the rebellion lead by Katniss has enraged the President so much, that he and his cabinet are determined to take the event to a whole new level, or so I've overheard.

As soon as we reach the top of the elevator, we are greeted by two men on either side of a dark, wooden door. Both men are tall and bulky, and the exact color of their hair, eyebrows, and mustaches are perfectly identical. Ulysses and Darcy's demeanor changes immediately as they greet them, and I offer a hollow smile. The man to the left of me raises an eyebrow, eyeing me intently.

"So, this is the Cresta girl. She's not much to look at."

If I even had a sliver of sass in my body, I would have shot back with some sort of smart, cheeky response, but I don't and keep to myself.

"Yes," Darcy counters, glancing back at me. "She isn't, but I assure you, she does take commands and instruction very well."

The man nods without a word, then opens the door, ushering all of us inside. We reach a plain, gray-tinted room with nothing but a few gray-clad sofas and arm chairs in the interior. The door shuts behind us, and silently, both Ulysses and Darcy take a few steps to one of the sofas, then plop down softly at the same time. I follow suit and take a seat in one of the grey, velvet covered armchairs. The next couple of minutes that pass are filled with nothing but an uncomfortable silence, and I clear my throat while looking down into my skirt and fiddle with the hem.

The door of the room opens after a few more minutes, and we all turn our attention to the President, who struts in with a confident, dominant desposition. Ulysses and Darcy stand up first, bowing and curtysing to him, and I eventually stand and do the same. He greets us all with a lowly, monotone voice, then orders the two guards that escorted him in to stand on against two of the four walls of the room. They comply without hesitation as he sits and opens a manila folder that I didn't seem to notice when he entered just moments ago.

"Please, sit." He tells us, without taking his gaze off of the contents of the folder. We do, and sit in stillness for a few more moments before he finally looks back up, first at the Flexlings, then at me. I have never come into contact with President Snow before, but I have heard from others of what he is like. I think Katniss described him best...he surely embodies death in the most subtle of ways.

"Miss Cresta," He addresses me first, his gaze piercing. "I assure that you are grateful of the hospitality that was offered by Mr. and Mrs. Flexling?"

I want to laugh at his question, but I can't and don't, and simply nod my head and clear my throat a bit. "Yes, Mr. President, I am. I will never be able to show my gratitude for your decision to spare my life, for I know that I too am a traitor and an accomplice of Katniss Everdeen."

"_Was_," He corrects me, holding up a finger, then pointing at me. "Was an accomplice. That's the key word, you see? You have learned from your traitorous ways, haven't you?"

His tone is impatient, as if he is awaiting an immediate answer, so I try my best to satisfy him.

"Yes sir," I speak quietly, my gaze faltering a bit. "I have learned through both Mr. and Mrs. Flexling the tremendous errors and mistakes of my past ways, and am now committed to bringing whatever glory and power to the Capitol that I can."

Is it obvious that I have rehearsed this spiel time and time again? I hope not.

An appeasing smile spreads across President Snow's thin lips and he nods his head in approval.

"Very good. It seems that we put you in the right spot then. Darcy dear," He calls to her, turning his head to look at the woman I have been serving for the last days, "What have you observed about our dear little Annie, here?"

Darcy turns her expression to attentive, and she coughs a bit before responding. "Well," She begins, folding her hands in her lap, "She is very obedient; she has never defiled me or challenged me in any way, she's pretty intelligent, and..." Darcy sighs, "I suppose she's organized."

"Very well," Snow drawls, motioning over to Ulysses. "What about you, my friend? Do you have anything to add?"

Ulysses sits up pin-paper straight, then glances at me, his eyes suave and collected, then shakes his head. "No, I don't sir. She is everything my wife claims her to be."

Again, the President smiles, though this time, his smile is a bit wider than before, the whites of his teeth just barely showing through his unnaturally peach-colored lips.

"Well, Miss Cresta, your repertoire exceeds every one of my expectations," He tells me, glancing back down at the open folder for only a moment. "That being said, I'd like to take the time we have together to announce our plans for you."

I really don't know what to expect, so I just sit there, as still and pristine as I can. Snow waits for just a moment before proceeding.

"As I'm sure you know all too well," He began, bending over slightly to hand me the manila folder between his hands. "There is a reason we decided to keep you around. You are a woman who is soft, gentle, and kind, just the kind of person we need for the extra special assignment we are giving you."

I frown in confusion, then slowly open the manila back up, peering at the contents and the papers inside. My picture is the first thing I see, followed by paragraphs and other pictures of various items. What is all of this for? What are they planning for me to do? My silent questions are interrupted by Snow once more.

"You said you want to bring glory and power to the Capitol, right, Miss Cresta?" He inquires.

Although my gaze isn't on him, I can feel his on me, and I suddenly feel hot all over. I feel it best to break my gaze from the folder to look back up at him.

"Yes, sir..." I tell him...hopefully convincingly. "You heard me correctly."

Darcy and Ulysses are as quiet as dead people, and when I glance over at them for a second, their expressions are blank and stagnant. If I didn't know any better, it's like they were no longer here in the room with either of us.

"Marvelous," he croons in return. He then clears his throat exceptionally loudly, and looks to his side as the only door to the room we're in opens, and to my astonishment, a shell shocked and clumsy Clyde is pushed inside roughly. A loud gasp emits from Darcy, and even without looking at her, I know what she most be feeling and thinking. A glance at both Ulysses and the President affirms my thoughts. Ulysses either has informed Snow of his wife's unfaithful ways, or perhaps Clyde folded under that had been upon him.

"Mr. Hillsaire," President Snow greets tensely, motioning to the armchair parallel to him, "Sit down, please. We must talk."

Clyde doesn't even so much as hesitate for a split second; his legs carrying him to the piece of furniture seconds later, and he lets out a nervous, deep sigh as he practically collapses down into a sitting position. Snow raises a lazy brow at him for a moment which he doesn't seem to notice.

"I think it is obvious as to why you're here, dear boy." He drawls, his snake-like eyes never leaving the poor boy cowering under his gaze.

"Yes," Clyde manages to say, "I was told about my involvement in this project when I was greeted at my door this morning."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as to what exactly he is talking about, but I remain silent, only shifting in my seat slightly.

"Well," Snow clears his throat a couple of times, "I think it is safe to say that none of us want to be here, as I'm sure we could all be doing other things, so I'll just get to the point."

He pauses for a moment, and we all wait with baited breath. What is to come of Darcy? Surely nothing good. Nothing positive ever results from infidelity, especially in the Capitol. What is to come of Clyde? I know he is a good boy and never had the intention of destroying a marriage. What is to come of me? I have done everything I can to keep in good favor with the President and the Capitol just so I could keep breathing.

"Mr. Hillsaire," He addresses Clyde, who looks at the President with wide, attentive eyes, "I'm afraid to inform you that because your knowledge and potential is far less satisfactory than we had hoped, you will no longer be allowed to continue in your training as an ambassador to District 10. Instead, we have changed your position to a new and challenging role, which is Hand of the Tributes. In this position of power, you will be traveling to each district and, instead of picking children from a glass bowl, the Reaping ceremony shall consist of you announcing both the male and female tribute you have picked, based on what they would be able to bring to the Games, whether that be skill, or charisma, or strength...or perhaps, they would bring nothing. It is entirely your choice, and we are entrusting you with this. You will be accompanied by a team of physicians and psychologists who will assist you with making your choice to ensure that each coming year, we have the most exciting and entertaining Games imaginable."

Nothing but silence fills the air between us, and I'm processing what was just said to Clyde as I'm sure he is too. I'm not exactly shocked by what Snow has said, as I learned weeks ago that the government planned to revamp the Games, but this just takes things to a whole new level. Instead of worrying about their name being drawn out from a bowl, children will now fear Clyde and the team that follows him, terrified of their name being announced at the Reaping. Same thing, same ceremony, just a different method of doing it.

Clyde clears his throat loudly once or twice, then takes the hand Snow extends to him and shakes it as firmly as he can.

"Thank you, sir. There are no words for how honored I am at this opportunity."

President Snow smiles widely, then chuckles a bit before pulling away from Clyde and turning his attention to him. In response, I sit up as straight as I can and will myself to hold the gaze that we are now sharing.

"And for you, Miss Cresta, I know how much you desire to travel and to go back home, so you will be joining Mr. Hillsaire on his travels, but instead of bothering with the hassles of picking new tributes, your title will be Victor Counselor. Your tasks will be to visit the most popular Victor's in each district and accompany, comfort, and serve them in any way that they need. That seems simple enough, yes?"

His eyes darken ever so slightly, and I can tell that he is waiting for me to object or to be the "good little girl" that I am and comply without any fuss. For my own sake, I choose the latter.

Forcing a smile, I nod my head in understand. "Yes, President Snow. It seems as easy as can be. I share Clyde's gratefulness for the opportunity you have bestowed upon me."

It is the first time I see the President's eyes shine as both extend and then shake hands. Shining with what, exactly? I'm not sure...but if I had to guess, it would probably be malice.

He motions for us to stand, and so both of us do without hesitation as the door to the room opens once more.

"I am content that both of you took the news so well. Now, you may leave me with Mr. and Mrs. Flexling. I enjoyed seeing the two of you and will be keeping in touch as you start on your trip a few days from now. Good day."

Before I can even so much as look back at Darcy and Ulysses, I am whisked away by two white-clad men; Clyde and two other guards on my heels. As we reach the escalator to descend to the bottom floor, I finally allow myself to take in the news that Snow has to graciously informed me about, and frown for only a second.

Once my feet hit the ground again, I'm greeted by a middle-aged woman who is covered head to toe in the deepest, most pigmented blue. Her blouse and skirt match perfectly, along with her over-the-top stiletto heels which have to be at least nine inches long, so I already know she is going to tower over me. Even her hair is something I manage to stare at for a few moments. It's long and pin-paper straight the very edges of the tufts stopping just above her hips. As soon the guards release their hold on me, she pulls me into a hug and says that her name is Marina Coyle and that she will be my stylist. I silently wonder why exactly I need a stylist after I already had one in my Games, and it's not like I'm going back into that damned arena...

Marina says goodbye to Clyde as he brushes by both of us and out the door, two other men clad in laboratory coats following after him. I blink in confusion and look around. Where did they even come from?

My new stylist loops her arm through mine as we exit the building and onto the bustling street filled with expensive, luxurious honking cars and brilliantly dressed people swiveling around each other on the sidewalk. She babbles about nothing imp articular for a while, then tells me that my life is about to change for a long time. I cannot remember how many times in the past couple years I have been told that. Considering what I'm about to do and where I'm about to embark though, I guess she is right. My life _is_ about to change in yet another way that for some reason, makes my stomach twist with the anxiety that constantly plagues my body.


End file.
